


The art of breaking and mending.

by crostiina



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Richard Gansey III's Death, friends to lover, just boys having feelings and ronan taking things into his hands
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-19
Updated: 2020-04-19
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:21:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,163
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23742232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crostiina/pseuds/crostiina
Summary: Night at Monmouth, post re-birth.No one can sleep and everything hurts.
Relationships: Richard Gansey III/Ronan Lynch
Comments: 5
Kudos: 41





	The art of breaking and mending.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [awesomissima](https://archiveofourown.org/users/awesomissima/gifts).



> for Gigia, my love and my light who also made me capable of writing things like these.  
> happy very, very, very belated birthday, I love you.

Time is a circle. Ronan had never been able to grasp the concept, it felt unnecessarily brainy and idiotically philosophical, but right at that moment he could feel his back uncomfortable against the floor tiles and the white paint turned blue by the night touching the dirty ceilings just sink into his body. For a moment, he was fifteen and his world had just come crashing down on him, there was no way of telling the two moments apart, he couldn’t feel the difference in his body and in his heart. The pain was all there, big and heavy on his stomach, bleeding into everything to the point that he forgot that this time it was not going to be forever. That he was eighteen, now, and the grass was green on his father’s grave but Gansey was above ground. In fact, he was so close that he could hear him breathe, and see the dark silhouette of his arm hanging on the edge of the mattress, and feel the unrest he carefully hid by incorrectly trying to stay perfectly still.

Last time they had lived through that moment, Ronan was on the floor because being home was both painful and impossible and Gansey was awake because Ronan was both his friend and unable to step closer when he felt so raw that the slightest touch might have broken him completely. 

A part of Ronan, on that same floor, had wanted Gansey to place his hand on his shoulder and whisper him that everything was going to be okay, even if it would have made him cry and sob and scream, even if hearing the words out loud would have felt like someone forcefully ripping his insides out of him, because it would have made everything real. But the biggest, loudest part just wanted to shut everything off, to cut the pain into small pieces and grind it until it was shapeless pulp, until there was nothing left to acknowledge or feel. It just wanted to forget and disappear, because that Ronan didn’t know that tactic never worked.

Ronan had been torn, conflicted and loose all over the edges, but Gansey, Gansey in the past and in the present and sadly all the fucking time, was different. It had taken Ronan so much time to learn the way he was, to understand how tightly he was winded, how talented his best friend was at picking up the pieces of himself and pushing them down into drawers, at locking everything neatly and then move aside and look for everyone else’s to pick and carefully put together while his hands shook and everything kept crumbling again and again. 

Gansey was neat in his pain, he was careful about it, aware of the way it was supposed to be held and tied down so it wouldn’t spill and burn everything it touched. Adam, Blue, Ronan himself were good at exploding, at letting everything fall, at throwing their mess around and feel guilty later, but that wasn’t Gansey. That couldn’t be Gansey, he was too hard on himself for that, too busy thinking and churning information and counting down every time he had slipped, every damage he had done, every time he had been too much or too little or nothing at all. He was an ongoing factory of thoughts and he couldn’t stop.

Ronan looked at the mattress where he imagined his head to be and lowered his eyelids, picturing the cogs of his mind working, processing, desperately trying to elaborate without moving. He could have turned around and ask for help, for a distraction, for the slightest touch of his fingers, but he wasn’t doing it. Even if he desperately needed it, even if they weren’t fifteen anymore, even if they knew loss and knew it was difficult and you need what you need to help yourself out of it. It just didn’t make sense.

Ronan sat up, looked at Gansey silhouette that appeared to be shining under the moonlight, a masterpiece of god-like beauty and human-like doubts, a mess neatly tucked under the skin of a polite, palatable man. He stared back at him, thick lashes unblinking, perfect lips sealed.

Ronan wished he would spill. He wanted to lie down beside him and undo the button of his skin, carefully pry open his brain and let everything out, the pain and the fear and the grief, he wanted to stain his hands over it and hold the bulk of between his fingers, he wanted to squeeze the entirety of Gansey between his arms, muscle and heart and hyperactive brain, to keep him close while all the bad leaked out of him, and maybe it wouldn’t have been enough to feel better but it could be enough to feel real, and alive, and a boy instead of a ruin freshly brought up from the dead. And he wasn’t going to force him to do any of that, but he could try.

Gansey blinked and it hurt, because it reminded him that he had been impossibly close to never seeing him flutter his lashes again, to have the warm chestnut of his eyes stolen from him forever. He parted his lips but couldn’t speak, his mind was fixed on Gansey on the grass, on the way he had fallen between Blue’s arms, soft and limp and not alive anymore. Everything else, the doubt, the hatred, the fear, they just looked so small in comparison.

The thought of overstepping didn’t even brush over his mind. He just stood and delicately pushed a knee against the boy’s body, to make space for himself on the bed. Gansey looked surprised and slightly confused, but didn’t say anything. Ronan knew it was more about fear of breaking him than him being fine with it and that hurt too, that even letting him in was something he wasn't doing for himself. But that was just what Gansey was.

He sighed and awkwardly lowered himself beside him, his legs stiff, his feet brushing close to the end of the mattress, the newness of the situation making everything stiffer that it was supposed to be. Ronan had never comforted someone in the proper way. His family was a symphony of repression and rehearsed tranquillity, where feelings were brushed aside in order to keep everything easy and the biggest display of emotion had been Declan and him fist fighting after their father's death. So he didn't really know if it was supposed to be easy. He didn't know if it was normal to lie awfully close to his best friend and counting his breaths, wondering if it was too much, if he was normal taking that much space. 

But he knew he wasn't supposed to feel his heart beat ten times faster than the usual pace, he knew everything wasn't supposed to be overshadowing by how much he wanted to hold him, how terrifying the thought of losing him forever had been.

So he decided to tune it out. He took a deep breath and pretended to be someone else, someone stronger and smarter and less in love with the marvel that was Richard Gansey. That way he was able to gently place his hand over his cheek, to meet his eyes, watch the concerned fluttering of his lashes, be still and calm as he decided to be there for Gansey without thinking about his weird spot in the picture. It was the right thing, it was what friends did.

"Aren't you supposed to rest or some shit?" he whispered, and cursed himself immediately after because he wanted to be better than this, he wanted to be able to say something more.

Everything was just so painful that it was easy to keep his thought straight. Not-emotional, not-in-love Ronan could keep his own shit at bay, but not Gansey's, not the weights and pain that whole situation had brought upon a of them. But still, that was just them, he couldn't ask for anything different from himself and Gansey wouldn't either.

"New life, old sleep schedule, I guess." he whispered back in fact, his lips pulling into a half smile but without a chuckle, a joke that wasn't a joke, something that came from pain and his friend's attempt to pretend like it didn't bother him.

It took Ronan's breath away. He wasn't like that, he couldn't joke about the things that hurt him, he couldn't name what had happened, not yet, not even as an attempt to make things smaller. New life meant that there had been an old one, that the Gansey who laid in front of him wasn't the one that had driven him to buy orange juice too many times and Ronan didn't know if he was ready to live with that thought.

But probably Gansey wasn't either. And, probably, he wasn't going to talk about it until someone else brought it up, until it became a _them_ problem, instead of a _Gansey_ one.

"How is it?"

He couldn’t say anything more, he couldn’t specify he meant his new life, his being alive after death, his being now made of magic and dream more than meat and bone. It hurt too much to say the world. It hurt too much to remember.

Gansey stared at him for a moment that was endless and everything stopped in front of his furrowing eyebrows, everything inside of Ronan waited. He watched his expression changing as he tried to adjust to the question, to the concept of prying open the compartments of his feelings, to unravel himself from the thick skin of lukewarm pleasantness he had been using as a shield to himself. It didn’t come naturally for him, to talk. He had been genetically planned, grown and harvested to keep everything inside, to brush and be brushed aside, to pretend like everything that couldn’t be managed just didn’t exist. Ronan hated the Ganseys for it, but didn’t say anything. He never did, it was no use, Gansey wasn’t one to acknowledge his problems and rage about their roots.

But he did stroke his cheek, without thinking about it, without leaving the need for touch and reassurance behind bars because who the fuck cared about hiding, after that day? Ronan knew he would have hated himself to pieces if Gansey hadn’t woken up, if he had stayed dead long enough to give him time to think about all the things he could have done to love him better. Thinking about it made him feel small and stupid. It was a shameful thing to realize, how afraid he had been of loving too much, of being rejected, to be the jolly child he had tried to bury as deep as he could when his father died. He was never going to be like that again, not around him, not when keeping all that to himself didn’t stop anything from hurting so much he couldn’t bear it.

Gansey looked back at him, confused, trying to fit the novelty of Ronan’s touch on his skin in a non-jokey way in the tight composition of his life. Then he leaned into it, so slightly that none of them noticed at first, both holding their breaths because being that closed felt difficult for a hundred thousand reasons they didn’t have the guts to understand.

“I don’t know.” he whispered, all at once, his face concerned, torn in that unfamiliar and unpleasant truth.

He just couldn’t dismiss how confused and scared he was, how lost he felt in his new skin. Ronan knew because he saw it, he saw everything, the way his eyes looked around, weary, like he was expecting everything to shift, how he touched everything slowly, almost as if afraid of realizing they felt different. It was everywhere and Ronan wished that he could take it, that he could wear it and live it for himself, that he could defend him from those things as well. Not like he had ever been able to defend him from anything, to be honest.

Gansey breathed in and ran a hand to his hair, something nervous and unfamiliar.

“It’s as if nothing has changed, but I know that’s not true and _it_ knows too.” it slipped right out of him, easier than it had been before.

A hole had been pierced into his ribcage and now things were crawling their way out, slow and painful.

Ronan noticed and decided not to think again when he let one arm circle Gansey’s back, pressing his hand between his shoulder blades to pull him closer. He wanted to say something, anything, but he let the way his arms wrapped around him do the talking. _Lean on me,_ they whispered, desperate, holding him tighter and tighter until he felt like he could keep Gansey together just like that, _I couldn’t save you but I can do this, I can give you this. Please. Please. Please._

Everything stayed still for moments that lasted forever while Ronan could feel how fast and hard his heart was beating against Gansey’s chest, how flashy and impossible to dismiss his love for him looked. He didn’t even realize how scared he had been until he felt a pair of arms quietly wrap around his waist, until Gansey hid his face against his neck.

“I don’t even know _what I am_ Ronan. I don’t know anything anymore. I never did.”

He didn’t cry, his voice was tired but clear, each word clear and precise like they had been rehearsed, like everything had been circling around his head again and again for hours. 

Ronan realized that had probably been the truth and couldn’t force himself to be that composed. He just tilted his chin upwards and kept as quiet as he could as he felt tears stream down his face for the second time that day, both for Gansey, both because he loved him so fiercely and painfully and it had never been enough. But maybe it could be now.

He wiped his face with the back of his hand and swallowed, knowing it was not going to make his voice sound clear.

“I know.” he said out loud, not a whisper, not a secret, something big and real and heavy "You are Gansey, you are real and you are alive."

His voice was shaky and low but he didn’t hesitate, not when he said the words, not even when he cupped Gansey’s neck in his hand and tilted his head back to meet his eyes that were different, circled and half-hidden and tired. He had never seen Gansey so hurt, so close to breaking, raw and real and _alive._

He could have missed it, he could have missed all of it, and the sound of his steps on the tiles in the morning, and the way his eyes scrunched up when he tried to focus on something without glasses or contacts and his laugh and his eyes and _god he was so in love with him._

Ronan sighed, carefully placing a hand on Gansey’s cheek and giving him time to adjust. He looked so lost, trying to understand, to find a familiar way to take down and rationalize everything in his usual way. He saw him furrow his eyebrows, scrutinizing Ronan’s face and his eyes and probably everything he could as long as it helped him avoid what he was going trough.

“You don’t have to do this, Ronan. You’ve had a long day.” he pointed out, like that was something normal to say, for someone who had actually died on that same day.

Had him not known Gansey, he would have been shocked by a reaction like that one. But Ronan knew, he had been expecting it, for how strongly it unnerved him.

He didn’t get angry, this time. He didn’t shout or fought but just cupped his face between his hands.

“Well, yours wasn’t exactly a walk in the park.” he pointed out, his joke flatter, weaker than it usually would have been, but it was fine. They had way bigger things to deal with.

Gansey half chuckled and half shrugged, but kept looking him in the eyes all the way.

“Maybe. But-”

“Gansey, I want to do this, I don’t care if I had a shit day. I want to be here for you, because you deserve it and I love you and that’s just how things are gonna be.”

Gansey didn’t even blink, now. He just stared at him, confused, unable to process any of it because he never had to before, and that was okay, Ronan had made peace with the past. He just wanted to be sure that wasn’t also gonna be the case for the future.

He pressed their foreheads together and just kept looking at him, at his puzzled expression as it slowly melted into concern, then acceptance, then something else, warm and delicate that he wanted to hide in his ribcage and protect forever. Gansey stroked his thumb over Ronan’s cheekbone and it crawled all over his spine, so intimate and desired he was absolutely sure that he was never going to be the same again.

“What would I do without you.” he whispered and it was bullshit, it was absolutely bullshit, because Ronan had lived in a world without Gansey for a handful of minutes and it was hell, it was impossible, absolutely unbearable.

He closed his eyes and shook his head but didn’t draw back, still too close, hearts beating messily only a couple of inches apart. 

He realized Gansey’s was just as fast as his.

“You’ll never find out.”

Ronan didn’t kiss Gansey and Gansey didn’t kiss Ronan either. What happened was something different, that had less to do with will and more with the aching, heart shattering need to be close, to touch, to feel. It was years of longing and looks and fear, it was what happened when two people felt so strongly and loved so ardently they just didn’t even know how to cope with it. It was Gansey inching towards Ronan and Ronan inching towards Gansey, their eyes shut close, afraid to look at the other and realize they had been alone in all of that mess of fear and longing and uncontainable love.

But they were not alone, so before they could even realize, they were kissing, awkward and red faced and out of breath. Someone - probably Ronan but maybe both - had started crying halfway but it didn’t matter, it was a good moment to cry, they had all the reasons and it was probably what they needed. So they kissed and cried and talked all night, holding each other so tight they were surely going to be sore in the morning, but it was worth it.

It was dawn, when Gansey fell asleep and Ronan thanked god for letting him have that night, and Cabeswater for giving him Gansey back, and Gansey for having found the space to let himself be loved.

**Author's Note:**

> i have to thank aurum (aurumdalseni here!!) for helping me by reading this while I was an absolute madwoman over it throughout the entire process and everyone who kept supporting me even if I was being horrendously annoying.  
> words can't express how anxious i have been about this, because it's hard to write for someone who is usually you first and biggest supporter without throwing everything at them but it's even harder to do that when it's someone you love and admire with all of your heart. but alas, I made it and it's here, I truly hope it speaks for itself.


End file.
